


signals crossing can get confusing

by teamfreeawesome



Series: all i want for christmas is... you? [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Angst and Humor, Christmas, Crack Treated Seriously, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-16 19:45:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13060890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teamfreeawesome/pseuds/teamfreeawesome
Summary: Does Tyson want in Gabe's pants? Or does he just want to steal Gabe's Christmas baubles? A mystery!





	signals crossing can get confusing

**Author's Note:**

> I.... have no explanation for this. I've written so many essays over the past three months that my creativity essentially curled into a ball and died, so. (Also, Nate/Tyson snuck in while I wasn't looking, so this could potentially end up being Tyson/Gabe/Nate. But. Who knows? Clearly NOT ME). Also, is this funny? I have no idea. What I do know is that I finished writing this and did not read it over so if it makes no sense or has typos I am super sorry... ENJOY 
> 
> Matt Duchene is still featured for REASONS (mostly being that I started writing this way before any trade shenanigans). All family members are made up fake people because I don't really like writing about fame-adjacent characters? 
> 
> Title from 'Love' by Lana Del Rey.
> 
> Disclaimer: No harm was intended by the writing of this. I don't, in any way, equate these fictional characters to their real-life counter parts.

Nate’s mom has baked Christmas cookies. They’re the good kind too; soft and gooey, and fresh out the oven.

“These are the best,” Tyson says, spraying crumbs across the carpet. “You’re the best, Mrs. MacKinnon.”

Nate’s mom just laughs, and rolls her eyes.

“You can’t eat all of them I’m afraid, honey. I’m going to need some for the Christmas market. Nate, have you asked Matt about the gingerbread yet?”

Flushing furiously, Nate mutters something about ‘doing it later,’ and sinks further into the couch, like if he squishes in deep enough he might disappear. Tyson snorts and squeezes in closer, pinching Nate’s arm affectionately, before turning back to the cookie plate.

“Matt’s gingerbread could never be as good as your cookies,” Tyson says to Nate’s mom, eyeing the plate hopefully.

“Nope,” Nate’s mom says, swatting Tyson’s hand away with a snort that sounds just like Nate’s. “Flattery doesn’t get you anywhere in this case. I’m going to box these up. You two just keep snuggling on the couch.”

“Mom,” Nate whines. “It’s not snuggling.”

Tyson grins, and presses his face into Nate’s neck. Licks at the skin there, making Nate squirm and push him away with a grimace.

“It kind of is snuggling, though. You love snuggling with me, Nathan.”

Laughing, Nate flicks Tyson on the shoulder, but acquiesces when Tyson twists his feet between Nate’s.

“Yeah, maybe,” he says, grinning, and tugs Tyson in closer. “I’m practicing for when we get married.”

Tyson gasps, hands coming up to clutch at his chest.

“ _Married_? Nathan, is this a _proposal_?”

“We’ve been engaged since I was a baby, Tyson. Our mothers have been planning our wedding since I was _born_.”

Laughing, Tyson pinches Nate’s cheek.

“And such a handsome husband I’ll have, too. Shame about the…” he pauses. Looks Nate up and down. “Personality.”

With an outraged noise, Nate tackles Tyson, grappling until Tyson’s squished beneath him and breathless with laughter.

“I’m breaking our engagement off,” Nate declares, grinning down at Tyson. “Due to artistic differences.”

“I hate you,” Tyson says, but he can’t help the smile that tugs at his cheeks. “You’re the worst.”

“Now that,” Nate asserts, knees squeezing Tyson’s sides. “Is the biggest lie you’ve ever told.”

Sighing, belly aching from laughter, Tyson lets himself go limp.

“Yeah,” he says. “It is.”

 

//

 

Look. Tyson’s not _in_ love with Nate. He’s just –

Shut up.

 

//

 

Snow is thick on the ground by the time the Christmas market arrives, the air full of cold, wet flakes that seem drawn to Tyson’s face. He keeps having to blink them away, shivering as they melt into rivulets of freezing water that seep under his scarf.

“You look like a disgruntled puppy,” Rosa, Tyson’s eldest sister, says, laughing.

“No, I don’t,” Tyson says, though it comes out more like a whine. “Nate, hand my money over. I want to buy this bauble.”

Nate sighs, and holds Tyson’s wallet even closer to his chest.

“No,” he says. “It’s hideous and you don’t need it.”

“Nonsense,” Rosa says. “Everyone needs a bauble with a singing Santa inside it. It would look great in the kitchen. Buy it.”

“ _See_ ,” Tyson says. “Nate, c’mon. Hand my wallet over.”

He’s still arguing with Nate about the bauble by the time they stumble across Matt, selling his homemade gingerbread at one of the stalls on the hill.

“You’re so multi-talented,” Tyson says, sidling up to Matt as Nate continues to sputter out heinous lies about the supposed tackiness of Tyson’s decoration choices. He tugs Matt’s toque more firmly onto his head, and winks. “Gingerbread. Knitting. What can’t you do?”

Matt coughs awkwardly, his cheeks flushing a deep pink.

“Is this the one?” Rosa asks, appearing next to them like some kind of evil embarrassment-spirit. “The one that you’re basically in love with? The one who’s Christmas decorations are better than yours? The hot one?”

Tyson makes a noise like a dying whale, and tries not to spontaneously combust on the spot.

“No,” he hisses, mortified. Then pauses. “Not that Matt isn’t hot. He’s very hot. Right, Nate?”

Nate’s smile drops off his face like a lead weight, and Tyson can see him swallowing hard. Tyson takes a step towards him, concerned, but Nate just shoves a handful of bills into his hand and scowls.

“Get me two gingerbread,” he mutters, nodding curtly at Matt, before stalking off, his shoulders up by his ears.

“What the fuck?” Tyson asks, bewildered.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Rosa says, laughing. She pats Tyson’s cheek condescendingly. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“ _Rosa_ ,” Tyson whines, but she won’t say anything else about it for the rest of the afternoon.

 

//

 

They meet up with Nate just as the sun is starting to dip behind the horizon. The scent of mulled wine pulls them towards one of the pop-up bars, Rosa laughing as Tyson trips on the front step.

“Why are you even here?” Tyson asks mulishly, kicking at the back of her heel as she cackles.

“You’ve got the giant light-up gingerbread that Dad lent you last year, and he wants it for the garden. You’re helping me get that in the car, by the way. It’s really heavy. Plus, Mom told me to check up on you because you sounded extra weird over the phone when she spoke to you last weekend.”

“I did _not_ ,” Tyson says, affronted. “Mom would never have said I sounded weird, either. I’m her favourite.”

Rosa smirks.

“That’s just what she wants you to think.”

Outraged, Tyson turns to Nate.

“ _Nate,_ ” he says, cracking out the puppy-eyes like a boss. “Did you hear what she said? Defend my honour.”

Laughing, and seemingly utterly unconcerned in the face Tyson’s well-honed, cute-as-fuck pout, Nate puts his hands up in mock surrender.

“Don’t get me involved, bro. I know how it ends, and it’s never in my favour.”

Tyson flutters his lashes and pouts harder. There’s no way Nate won’t cave. He’s been practicing this expression in front of the mirror for weeks now, and it’s adorable, if he does say so himself.

“That face won’t work on me,” Nate smirks. “It’s objectively awful. Put it away.”

Flushing, Tyson sticks his tongue out at Nate.

“Traitor,” he sniffs. “You’re the worst.”

He pauses. Looks at Rosa.

“Okay, the second worst,” he amends.

“Hey!” Rosa says, tackling him and working him into a headlock almost effortlessly. “I’m the _best_. Who saved you from that rabid sheep that time?”

“Sheep can’t be _rabid._ Mom said that sheep are really friendly and there’s nothing to be afraid of. Lambs are _benign_ ,” Tyson argues. “But alright. Fine. You’re my best sister.”

“I’m your only sister,” Rosa corrects, but lets him go anyway. “Nate, lead the way to the bar.”

Curling her arm around Nate’s, she presses in close, smirking at Tyson over her shoulder as he trails behind.

 

(He’s four drinks in and sloppy when he lets his head drop onto Nate’s shoulder.

“Sheep can’t be rabid, right? I’m safe?”

Nate just laughs at him, and Tyson can’t work out why. It’s a legitimate worry).

 

//

 

Tyson drops his sister off at the airport a day later, and Nate, like the great bro he is, doesn’t say anything when Tyson maybe cries a little bit on the way home.

His family is the _best_ , okay.

 

//

 

Look, so. Tyson likes soccer, okay. Nate knows his weaknesses, and soccer’s one of them. So sue him.

He ends up at a soccer game. Not, like, a good one, but fun anyway. It’s outside, cold enough to freeze the pitch worryingly, but it’s an amateur game, and nobody seems to care. Tyson would be ecstatic, but Nate, like the traitorous backstabber he is, invited _Gabe_.

It’s awful. Gabe’s sat next to him, throwing out heat like a radiator, and god – Tyson is a fucking _mess_. The plastic seat beneath him is freezing, and his fingers feel numb, and he’s never wanted to hold someone’s hand more than he does right now. It’s weird. Something about the atmosphere has Tyson’s skin tingling, and he can’t stop looking at Gabe. At his face, the curve of his jaw, and the way his expression softens when talks to someone he likes. At the way his mouth looks when someone scores, and the way his voice sounds when he’s yelling at the goalkeeper.

Tyson’s head feels full of warm fantasies, and it’s terrible. He doesn’t even _like_ Gabe, but he still wants to fall asleep with his head on Gabe’s shoulder. Wants to be cradled in Gabe’s arms as the game happens around him. Wants to be coaxed home, and peeled out of his layers, until he’s standing there, naked. With Gabe, who’s looking at Tyson like he’s never loved anybody quite as much as he loves Tyson.

“Number six is terrible,” Gabe says, his voice deep and startling next to Tyson. “He won’t pass to anyone. He might actually be the worst striker I’ve ever seen in my life.”

He looks adorable, frustration making his mouth pull tight, and it’s infuriatingly cute. Tyson _hates_ him. He’s just so _pretty_. His chin is buried deep inside his scarf, and his hat has a little bobble on the top. It’s the actual worst. Tyson’s belly feels weird and hollow, and he desperately, desperately wants to reach out and tangle his fingers with Gabe’s.

“I think number six is great,” Tyson says smugly. He’s not even sure which one number six is. He knows it’s written on their shirts, but he hasn’t really been paying attention. “He’s the best striker I’ve ever seen. He should be in the top league. What’s better than the top league?” Tyson smirks. “He should be in the Olympics.”

“The premier league?” Gabe asks, laughing. “Have you even been watching the game? He keeps swiping the top of the ball with his boot accidentally instead of kicking it.”

“I’m not going to criticise a professional,” Tyson sniffs.

“A professional?” Gabe asks incredulously. “Nate,” he says, leaning across Tyson, which is awful and terrible and the best ten seconds of Tyson’s life. “Tyson thinks that number six is a professional.”

Nate just smiles at Tyson fondly, and snorts.

“Of course he does.”

Which, rude.

 

//

 

Tyson’s at home, recovering from the game and the simultaneous Gabe-proximity, when he spots… _it_.

“A giant mince pie!”

Nate doesn’t look up from his book.

“Have you seen it? Ugh, of course you have. It’s so fucking enormous they can probably see it on the moon.”

Tyson pauses in his pacing to glare at the top of Nate’s head.

“Why isn’t this bothering you? He’s usurping my position in the neighbourhood.”

Nate snorts. Turns a page.

“ _Nate_ ,” Tyson hisses.

“I’m staying out of your weird courting. You’re like a bird decorating a nest ready for spring. Oh, yes, look Gabe, I have the most beautiful house. All my lights are twinkling really bright, so maybe now you’ll kiss me?”

“I did not -” Tyson starts, outraged. “I am not – how dare you imply that my decorations are some kind of – of mating ritual!”

“I didn’t imply anything.”

“Yes, you did.”

“It’s not an implication if it’s true.”

“That’s – I’m – fuck you, Nate.”

“It’s not me you want to fuck,” Nate says smugly, laughing as Tyson covers his ears with a horrified expression. “Maybe you should try being nice to him.”

“I’m always nice,” Tyson says. “I just don’t like him. Or his beautiful chiselled jaw.”

 

//

 

Matt has been pacing outside of Tyson’s house for fifteen minutes.

“Are you here for a reason?” Tyson asks as he rests a ladder against the outside of his house. “Only, if you’re just going to stand there, you might as well help me put up this LED sleigh. It’s supposed to go on the roof.”

Matt sighs.

“You know better than to try and involve me in this mess, Tyson.” His cheeks look a little pink. “I just came to say that Betty at thirty-four has asked me to ask you to take down the snowflake projector light because it keeps shining directly into her bedroom and she can’t sleep.”

“Take it _down_?” Tyson says, and even he can hear the note of hysteria. “I can’t take it down! Then Gabe would _win_.”

“Don’t start with me,” Matt says. “You need to relax. Maybe you could… I mean, we could… coffee can be relaxing, right? We could go to that place… you know, the one you like on the corner. With the lattes? Look, don’t worry about it. Gabe doesn’t even know it’s a competition.”

“That’s what he wants you to think,” Tyson mutters darkly. “And I don’t need any caffeine. Nate’s told me I’m too high-strung without it already. He’s tracking my intake. He’s the worst. I don’t know why I like him,” he sniffs, and storms back towards the house.

“Oh,” Matt says, shoulders drooping as Tyson slams the door.

 

//

 

Nate goes away for a long weekend, and it’s the worst. Tyson almost vibrates out of his skin without him. He buys thirteen porcelain Santas for his front yard, twenty-seven model mince-pies, a set of 400 lights for his Christmas tree and seven giant candy-canes. He forgets, sometimes, how much Nate grounds him.

“You’re home!” Tyson says, when Nate knocks on the door. He’s also got Erik Johnson in tow, which is awesome. “This means you can both go Christmas tree shopping with me. I haven’t got one for the guest bedroom yet.” He grins, tugging them both in for a hug. “How was the trip?”

EJ grins.

“Good. My mom liked the hot weather.”

Next to him, Nate rolls his eyes.

“It’s nice for some. You know I was only twenty minutes away at my uncle’s, Tyson. You’re absolutely ridiculous. My mom said you were at her house most of the weekend, anyway.”

“She was helping me make non-edible gingerbread decorations for my kitchen,” Tyson says, smirking. “I think she’s my favourite MacKinnon.”

“Lies,” EJ says, laughing. “So many lies. Also, dude, you do know that Matt has already spoken to me, right? What the fuck is going on with you and this Gabe guy?”

Tyson glares.

“Don’t you start with me, too. Gabe is just – he’s _so_ chiselled and strong, but he’s the most evil, competition-title-stealing dude to ever exist.”

“Oh, definitely,” EJ says, laughing, but it’s very definitely _at_ Tyson and not _with_ him.

“Don’t just humour me,” Tyson says. “You’ll see! He’s out for my title.”

EJ smirks.

“Nate says you _like_ him.”

Tyson’s face goes hot.

“Nate’s a liar,” Tyson says. “I hate you both.”

“No, you don’t,” EJ says, grinning.

“No,” Tyson agrees. “It’s the worst.”

 

//

 

The Christmas tree farm is cold. The wind feels harsh, buffeting against Tyson’s cheeks, the air bright and bitter enough to burn Tyson’s lungs as he breathes. Tinny-sounding speakers pump out aggressively cheerful Christmas songs, and the bored looking staff are all dressed in ridiculous Christmas costumes.

“This is depressing,” Nate says.

“No,” Tyson says, practically bouncing on the spot. “This is perfect. Have you seen the _trees_? You’re gonna help me pick a good one, right? You know my criteria.”

Nate sighs, makes brief eye contact with EJ - which Tyson is not oblivious to at _all_ , thank you very much -  and pulls out his phone.

“I’m calling in reinforcements,” he says. “EJ and I will help for a bit, and then when Matt gets here, we’re going for hot chocolate.”

“No!” Tyson says, aghast. “He always makes me _rush_.”

Nate smirks.

“Exactly.”

 

//

 

The problem is, and has always been, that Tyson is ridiculous about emotions. He’s not unaware. It’s just that –

If he faces how he feels about Gabe, then Gabe might say no. At least this way he gets to keep Gabe, and his feelings about Gabe, at a distance.

His feelings for Nate, well.

What feelings for Nate?

**Author's Note:**

> let me know if i need extra tags etc etc etc
> 
> i know nothing about soccer/football so apologies to those of you who do


End file.
